New Kid
by Ice Queen1
Summary: The Winchesters meet a certain detective while on a case in Portland, Oregon. They offer a couple tips on how to save the world.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Because really, who hasn't thought of this meeting? Currently I'm stuck watching Jersey Shore and wishing I was dead or that I could use the gun I'm carrying to shoot someone or at least the TV.

Standard Disclaimer: Hah! If they were mine…this would be on TV, not

Sam Winchester wasn't unfamiliar with being on the wrong end of a gun. Or even the wrong end of the police. Hell, nowadays it seemed like everything and everyone between Heaven and Hell (and then some) wanted him and his brother dead. But this? This was a little unexpected.

Sam and Dean had finally decided to visit the West Coast for the first time in a long while it seemed, forgetting the midwest that they spent the fast majority of their time in. Dean seemed to be looking for some place as rainy and gloomy as his current moods, and Portland, Oregon, seemed like a perfectly acceptable place to go.

It also helped that there seemed to be a couple of their kinds of cases cropping up in the news. Except that they all seemed resolved, and by the police, nonetheless. Not some ne'er do well such as themselves or other hunters.

They caught wind of a current case as the cops did, involving a missing girl and a possible serial killer.

The Winchesters suspected something more along the lines of Hansel and Gretel, so they struck into the woods on their own, unexpectedly stumbling upon the house rather easily. Unfortunately, so did someone else. Apparently, the trail of cookie crumbs was a little literal and obvious in this case. Or the witch didn't think she was going to get caught.

The cop wasn't alone per say, but he didn't have his police issued partner with him, that was for sure. The cop was standard issue – clean cut, authoritative voice and prescence, and trying to keep the calm while aiming a police issued M9 at them. His partner, on the other hand, whoever he was, really didn't seem to belong there. Scruffy, dressed like someone who belonged in a library instead of the woods, and a perpetual complainer about why they were out there in the first place, and what did these yahoos have to do with the crime scene? And otherwise completely ignoring the standoff they were now in.

"What are you two doing out here?" the cop asked, gray eyes and dark hair in stark contrast to pale skin. Apparently the sun really didn't come out all that often in Portland, the guy looked like a vampire. "This is a potential crime scene."

"Key word being 'potential'," Dean said lightly, keeping his gun pointed at the officer, who in turn kept his pointed at Sam. "We're trying to stop that from happening."

"So am I. You should leave it to the police, we don't need vigilantes out here trying to help," the officer said calmly.

"I think you're a little out of your depth here, officer," Dean replied. "This is more our area of expertise. Trust us."

"You're not the Feds," the detective said. "I'm not a moron, thank you. And I happen to like Led Zeppelin and I recognize those names. So who are you really?"

"Hunters," Sam replied vaguely. It was really the first time he'd spoken in the entire exchange. He didn't miss the sudden change in demeanor, from vague suspicion that all cops seemed to hold for people who showed up at their crime scenes, to one that meant that he might actually recognize them.

_Crap_. Hopefully it wasn't from a wanted poster or the news from several months ago.

"Hunters?" he repeated. "Of what? This is a national park, no hunting allowed."

"Not that kind of hunting," Dean said by way of explanation.

The cop shot his partner a look at the bearded man shrugged. "I don't recognize them."

The detective looked back at Sam and Dean. "You're Grimms?" he asked, lowering his gun.

Who what now?

Sam and Dean glanced at one another, before the eldest Winchester echoed the question. "Grimms?"

"My aunt said that there were more of us, but she didn't keep contact with them. You're Grimms, right?" The man actually looked like he might suspect them of being exactly who they really were. And it didn't seem to surprise him. In fact…he looked a little hopeful.

"Winchesters," Sam replied, looking a little bewildered at the sudden change in demeanor.

"No, not your names…your…job. Sorry, I'm a little new to this," the detective said. "You hunt monsters?"

"Hey!" his buddy exclaimed indignantly. "Watch it there with the name calling."

The detective grimaced. "Sorry. You know what I mean."

"Wait, you mean you're a hunter too?" Sam asked, a little suspicious. Not many hunters held respectable jobs.

The cop shrugged. "I guess so. My aunt told me I was a Grimm. She never said anything about being a hunter. Are you like a different…kind?"

The detective was talking about them like it was his first day on the job at Wendy's. If he was a hunter, he was one of the few who didn't look like a reject from the lastest issue of Back Country Hicks. He had to be really new – he didn't look worn out and bone tired like the others.

"Your…aunt…said you were a Grimm? Did she elaborate at all?" Sam asked.

Dean was still staring at the detective like he was out of his ever loving mind, looking torn between his natural distrust for the law and the knowledge that there was obviously something about this guy that made him safer than most.

"Apparently it's an inherited thing. My parents were Grimms too, apparently."

"Okay. So a little like a hunter."

"They're like the cops between the creatures and humanity, I would say," the 'Grimm' replied.

Dean frowned. If that was the case, they might still be on the shit list. Heaven, Hell, and probably some others still wanted them dead.

"I thin we should continue this somewhere…dry, don't you?" Sam suggested. "The witch isn't here right now, and we don't know when she's coming back – if at all. At least we can compare notes for a plan of attack."

Some place crowded. With lots of witnesses to prevent anyone from doing something…rash.

"You mean the Hexe?" the detective said.

Dean shrugged, finally lowering his gun. "Sure. Whatever you want to call it."

"Because out in the woods isn't private enough for this kind of conversation," the other man said.

"I don't like the rain," Dean said, scowling. "And I'm still not sure about you two. Besides, if he's a Hunter, what are you? A sidekick?"

"I fix clocks," the man said.

"And apparently consult on crime scenes. Sure. That's completely rational. Let's go get a beer and discuss this. At the very least, you two need a couple pointers for the job," Dean said.

"You're gonna help us? And what do you know that we don't?" the bearded man bristled while the detective actually looked really happy about the prospect of getting to talk to them. He must be _really_ new to this.

"It's 10 in the morning. Let's try coffee first," the detective suggested. He stuck out his hand, which was no longer holding the gun. "My name is Nick Burkhardt, and this is Eddie Monroe. He consults for me."

"Sam and Dean Winchester. Nice to meet you."


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Well, I had no idea what I was up to with the original storyline, but a couple of the reviews make me want to take this in a separate direction. Anyone else has any ideas, feel free to mention them. I accept requests, because my muse is a little ADD. Not unlike myself…:-D

"Sam, this seems like a stupid idea," Dean said. He glanced around the coffee house for what seemed like the millionth time. "And we've had some doozies in the past."

Sam gritted his teeth. "I know it seems like a bad idea. Hell, it probably _is_ a bad idea. But it would be nice to have some help since we don't really have a whole lot of people we can reach out to. Rufus is gone, all of the Campbells are gone…Cas and Bobby…a friend in any place is good enough for me."

Dean's face darkened at the names of their fallen friends. He actually flinched slightly at the names of Castiel and Bobby, and Sam could hardly blame him. It'd been a rough couple of months, and while he himself was still plagued with doubts of whether or not he was in reality land or still in the Box, Dean was anchored miserably in his assurance that his Hell was real, unyielding, and inescapable. And at least Sam could rationalize that things could always be worse…

"I'm a little surprised he doesn't recognize us from the news a couple months ago when the alter-us went on the killing spree…" Sam mused, mostly to himself.

"I'm telling you, dude, this is a bad idea," Dean grumbled.

"Dually noted, Captain Pessimism," Sam retorted.

Fortunately, Sam was saved from having to deal with Dean's response by the arrival of their expected 'frenemies'.

"Sorry about the delay," Nick said, looking legitimately apologetic as he and Monroe pulled up the chairs opposite the brothers. Monroe still looked crossed between suspicious and vaguely inconvenienced. "I made the report to dispatch to have them check out the house in the woods, but so far they haven't turned anything up."

"Wrong house?" Sam asked.

Nick shrugged. "Possibly. The forest is pretty big, and it would've been kinda convenient in a sort of suspicious way if we managed to suddenly stumble upon the right one simultaneously."

Dean shot a look at his brother from over the travel mug worth of black coffee. "That's pretty much how we roll, to be honest."

"I also looked you guys up. Thought your names sounded familiar. Turns out I was right," Nick said nonchalantly. "You apparently went on a killing spree a while back across the US and were killed shortly thereafter."

Dean's hand automatically clenched tighter around the mug, while his other went surreptitiously to the gun under his coat. A warning glance from Sam that said plainly 'behave' kept him from pulling it and reduced him to a grumble.

"Any reason why you don't arrest us on sight?" Sam asked cautiously, and he admitted, a little more than curious.

Nick smiled. "Well, for one thing, your records are already a little dodgy. Dean over there has been dead I don't even know how many times. Shot by the cops in Missouri. Shot again after the country wide killing spree. Lot of accident reports involving a 67 Impala, misfires, stabbings, electrocutions, and so forth. You know you even have your hospital record listed with the police because of the circumstances around a lot of them. And you, Sam, are just as interesting. Pre-law, and then your girlfriend dies in an accidental fire, and then you disappear. Multiple times, it seems. So I figure with records like that, I can draw a couple conclusions – one, you're either the best or worst criminals in the world to know that I was going to find that information and still agree to have coffee with me. Two, a lot of it is made up or some of the worst paperwork I have ever seen in my entire life. Or three. You're something else entirely."

"Grimms," Sam said, echoing the earlier title the detective mentioned.

"Grimms," Nick agreed. "Except you didn't seem to recognize the title, so I'm guessing my aunt died a little too early to be able to explain much to me."

"Ok, so let me get this straight…" Sam started, trying to guess at what exactly the detective knew. Or was, for that matter. "You're a Grimm, which is something like a cop, and it's hereditary? How?"

Nick shrugged, looking a little lost. "I guess? My Aunt Marie came to visit me a couple months ago, and she was already dying from terminal cancer. Sort of explained things, but only really said that the Grimms' Fairy Tales were real. Or at least, all the creatures in them are. And Grimms are supposed to be the police between them and people. We can see through their faces when they lose control, and they seem to be able to recognize us too…" Nick trailed off. "I don't know why I say 'us', because until you, I never met another one. My Aunt said she didn't have contact with them."

Dean swallowed the coffee he already had before answering. "We're not Grimms. We're _hunters_. There's a difference."

"How?" Nick asked. "What do you do that I don't?"

"For one, we _hunt_ things. As in go looking for things. We've gone after everything from vampires, to werewolves, to fallen angels and hell, even Lucifer himself."

Sam was watching the cop for a reaction, but was honestly surprised when he saw the recognition dawn on Monroe's face instead. The blood drained from his face, and his mouth formed a small 'o' of surprise.

Ah. A fan.

Apparently he was a Grimm too, except that Nick said he hadn't run into any other hunters, so he wasn't entirely sure why it was Monroe, not Nick, who recognized the deeds, if not the name.

"Wait…you're _The_ Winchesters? _John _Winchester's boys?" the man fairly squeaked, his voice cracking as he tried to keep a whisper to his voice but not really succeeding at it. "Nick, we need to get out of here."

Nick looked just as baffled as Sam felt. "What? Why?"

"Because these aren't just _hunters_, they're…baddest of the bad. No one goes up against the Winchesters and lives to tell the tale," the bearded man growled, pushing back in his seat so there was at least an arm's length between him and the table they shared. Sam was a little surprised he didn't just take off.

"To be fair though, we only kill monsters. And angels…who misbehave," Dean said, smirking unpleasantly over his coffee.

"What the hell are you two talking about?" Nick asked, glancing back and forth between the brothers and his partner.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. "God, I hate starting from scratch…" he sighed. "Ok. Long story short – our mom was killed by a demon who was trying to jump start the apocalypse in an effort to raise the Devil from his cage, which drove our dad a little off the deep end and he raised us to hunt things that go bump in the night until we figured out that they wanted Sammy as King of Hell. When that failed, there was a war in Heaven, we won that too. And in the middle parts we hunted your average wendigo, skinwalker, poltergeist…et cetera."

Sam blinked. "Wow. That really is the last seven years in three sentences. It seems so simplistic. Abbreviated, but simplistic."

"So you guys are like…"

"Super villains," Monroe supplied, lip raised. "They're like ten generations of Grimms rolled into one."

"Hey, watch the name calling, ass hat," Dean snapped. "We save peoples' lives. Hell, we've saved the whole _goddamned world_. So watch who you call a villain, Grizzly Adams."

"People like you are the ones who killed off my family members," Monroe snarled.

Immediately Dean and Sam both refocused on Monroe, and Nick was almost a little afraid of the predatory looks they suddenly fixed on his friend.

"That's an awfully specific word choice there," Dean said, slowly setting down his coffee mug. "_People_ like us, no mention of you being 'people'. So who…or should I say what… are _you_?"

Nick watched as Eddie's eyes flashed red and there was suddenly more of a point to his canines than before. That he expected, considering his reaction to the Winchester brothers so far, but what he _really wasn't_ expecting was the look of recognition that the Winchesters held.

"_Werewolf_," Dean growled, and lunged across the table.

_Dammit_.

Reviews are so much better than just a fave! It lets me know how you really feel! :-D


	3. Chapter 3

"Dean!" Sam shouted, grabbing onto his brother before he managed to get his hands on the other man. At the same time, Nick slid in front of Monroe, Eddie's features turning lupine as he snarled at the elder Winchester.

"Eddie!"

Both parties ignored their counterparts and lunged a second time.

Good thing the coffee house was basically empty, and the few people who were there promptly ducked out when they saw the argument heating up. Or they overheard the conversation and decided not to be a part of the madness.

Sam latched onto the back of his brother's collar, choking off any retort as his left hand pinned his brother's against the small of his back, basically pinning him to the table in a police hold. "Chill out!"

Dean's returning snarl was an awful lot like the challenging one from Eddie, and Sam idly wondered if his brother was spending too much time 'amongst the natives'.

Eddie was showing remarkable restraint, but when Sam actually caught a look at him, it wasn't so much aggression as defensive fear.

"Dean, I will arrest you here and now and let you explain yourself to the rest of the precinct if you _do not knock it __**off**_," Nick threatened, still firmly between Dean and Monroe. "If you give us a chance, I'll explain."

Though the scowl remained, Sam could watch the wheels turning in Dean's head, and he didn't really blame the thought process. If he ignored the warning, he was definitely going to jail, and they were going to be back on the radar, which meant the Leviathans could find them again. If he waited to hear Nick out, he could pretend to go along with whatever the story was, and come back later…like with Amy. Trust was not really high on Dean's list of priorities, and to be perfectly honest, it wasn't on Sam's either.

"Fine, talk," Dean growled, shrugging his brother off and sitting back in the chair, arms across his chest and leaning as far back in his chair as Monroe currently was. "And this better be good."

Nick turned his attention to Monroe, whose eyes were still tinged red and his hair a little longer than it was a moment before. "You trust me, right?" he asked the werewolf.

There was a flash of doubt, but Sam watched as the features slowly faded back to that of a normal human. "You, yes. Winchsters? _Hell no_."

"Feeling's mutual, pal," Dean grumbled. "What the hell kind of werewolf are you, anyway?"

"I am not a _werewolf_, you hick. I'm a _blutbad_,_" _Monroe corrected. "There's a difference," he added snidely, mocking the earlier words by Dean about hunters versus Grimms.

"Shut up, both of you. Sam, Dean…this is Eddie Monroe – watchmaker and repairman, and a reformed _Blutbad_. Roughly translated as the Big Bad Wolf. He helps me out with the cases that involve creatures in them when I can't find the answers in the books my aunt left me. Trust me – he's not a werewolf," Nick explained, calmly, patiently, and a little wearily, as if he's not expecting the Winchesters to buy it.

Dean obviously doesn't, but Sam knows what it's like to be thought of as a monster no matter the good you do.

"What did you just call him? A bootbahd?" Sam asked, the word sounding distinctly German, which made sense if it was the actual Brothers Grimm who came up with all of them. Or wrote them down anyway.

"_Blutbad_," Eddie corrected, enouncing clearly this time. "We're not werewolves. We don't change with the turn of the moon, it's not a disease we transmit through biting, and it doesn't make us mindless killers, either. It's simply a different species than a human."

"So you're genetic werewolves," Dean said.

The _blutbad_ immediately bristled at the term, and Sam could tell it was an insult to his species. One look at Dean and he knew his brother had drawn the same conclusion, but simply didn't care. Or, he was purposely trying to get a rise out Eddie, which was just as likely.

"Ignore him. He does that with everyone," Sam said, waving his brother off.

"What?" Nick asked, still keeping one wary eye on the elder Winchester.

"Piss them off," Sam replied, trying not to smile, but failing rather miserably. "It's his way of saying 'hello'."

"How does he say good-bye?" Nick asked, going along.

"Pretty much the same way. It's like _aloha_."

Nick actually laughed at that one, and Sam was relieved to see and feel some of the tension fade. He was used to Dean antagonizing damn near anyone he ever met, so this was nothing new. As long as his brother didn't try to kill a cop's partner, this might end well.

"Now you have to explain about you guys…I know you saw Eddie change, and to my knowledge, only Grimms can do that. Are you sure you're not one of them?" Nick asked.

Dean shook his head. "Nope. But we didn't get a convenient 'how to' guide from a dying relative that explained how to kill everything. Our dad cobbled pieces together after our mom died while he dragged us around the country killing things. I learned to field strip a rifle before I could read something more complicated than comic books. Twenty bucks says that we can see him just because we know where and how to look. No weird freaky genetic mumbo jumbo involved."

"Dean's got a point – we're used to seeing weird shit at this point. I think it's normalcy that would throw us for a loop. Our mother might have been one, her family was generational hunters. Maybe there is a little Grimm mixed in there," Sam explained.

Eddie glowered petulantly from his chair, his posture reflecting Dean's. "You also cover slightly more than the average Grimm. You travel in a pack, almost never alone." Monroe turned towards Nick, who bore the patience of a thousand saints it seemed. "Nick, these guys don't just hunt monsters. Not even just bad monsters. They say they killed the right hand of the Devil. They defeated Lilith. They stopped the apocalypse. They outsmarted the Devil himself. You really don't want to hang out with these two. You know how that plumber reacted to you? He was a mouse. _Gods _run from these guys."

For the first time, Nick looked a little unsure. "Is he exaggerating?" Nick asked.

Smiling for the first time in the entire discussion, Dean winked at Nick. "Not even a little bit. The rumors, for once, are entirely true."

"He's also missing a couple things. Like Dean got to be Death for a day. We've been dead…I've lost track of how many times now…" Sam said helpfully. "And we travel through time when the situation calls for it."

"You did all that…all by yourselves?" Nick asked, glancing between the two of them. Obviously, he didn't believe them, and Sam could hardly blame him.

Dean's fake smile evaporated. "I'm gonna wait outside until you ladies are done discussing ancient history and your feelings." He shoved further away from the table and stalked out to the parking lot, shoulders hunched against the light drizzle.

"Apparently a bad subject…" Nick said, watching him go. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, just hit a nerve," Sam explained. "We didn't do all of it by ourselves. We had a lot of help for a while. A family friend named Bobby Singer, who practically raised us…he was killed recently, and Dean's not doing so well with it. And we had another friend."

"Friend?" Eddie echoed. "If the rumors are still true for this one, they said you traveled with an angel."

Sam smiled. "Yep. Rumors are still true. Castiel was the angel who pulled Dean out of hell – long story, we'll explain that one later – but we traveled with him for a while. Dean more than me, at first. I think he was the closest thing to a best friend Dean ever had."

"What happened to him?" Nick asked, genuinely interested.

Sam shrugged. "Tried to win the war in Heaven by taking all the souls from Purgatory, became God, went mad with power, and then was over taken by the souls of creatures called Leviathans that we think destroyed him in the process. It's another long story, but that's the overview."

"Do you ever have a story with 'we just went our separate ways' as an ending?" Nick asked.

"We'll see how this one goes," Sam said honestly. "Enough history. Change of subject. If that house we stumbled on to isn't the one where the witch is holed up, you have any other leads?"

Nick hedged. "Yeah, but you're not going to like it."

Sam rolled his eyes. "When do we ever?"

Author's Notes: I'm debating bringing in the Ghost Facers. Won't lie. Anyone else want a cameo appearance? Right now this is sounding almost overly simplistic, and I think I might be done with the exposition. Thoughts? Comments? Let me know!


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: I'm sure this comes off as some sort of homosexual undertones, but that's not how I intend it. Nick and Monroe are friends, they're just closer because they feel like they're the only ones who they can be honest around. Dean misses Castiel because let's face it, that's like his best friend. Not many people will go against Heaven for a friend, and when he didn't have Sam around, he had Castiel. So that's how I'm writing it. I know I miss my best friend like crazy and we're the same gender. Doesn't mean I would ever hop in bed with her except to literally just sleep.

Dean leaned against their car of the week, debating whether or not he would just stick it out in the rain or actually suck it up in the 'loaner'. He missed the Impala. It was like another missing family member at this point. Stupid Leviathans…they ruined everything. No more Impala. No more Bobby's house or Bobby at all…no more Castiel or the God Squad. Now it seemed like life was perpetually on the run instead of just on the move. They had nothing. There wasn't even an endgame in sight.

"You look like perpetual misery incarnate."

Dean glanced up at saw that the werewolf had followed him out. Except he had an umbrella in hand. "What the hell do you want?"

The man sighed, looking for all the world like he would rather be licking the floor of a taxi cab instead of talking to Dean. "Nick said you and I got to be stuck together scoping out the woods. Your brother says you need to learn people skills, and he's less of a risk to follow Nick around in case he bumps into other cops. Apparently you're too reactive for the precinct."

"And you're supposed to be a person in order to help me with people skills?" Dean grumbled.

"I think that's his point right there. You can't even start off a conversation pleasantly. How did you ever have friends?" Monroe said, gesturing towards him with the end of the umbrella.

"I corrupted them to my level," Dean deadpanned. "Don't fight it. It's inevitable."

"Well obviously you're not rising to _my_ level," Monroe growled.

"Even Cas sank to my level in the end. Booze. Debauchery. Whole nine yards." Dean was beginning to enjoy this.

"Hopefully this won't take that long. We find the cabin, we tell Nick, we're good to go," Monroe said.

"Wait, you're a werewolf and you don't hunt on your own?" Dean asked, standing up straight.

"For the love of…I am a _BLUTBAD_. Not a damn werewolf! No moon involved! No getting gnawed on at some point in history. Same as you were born an idiot. And I am _reformed_. Which means _no_, I don't hunt anymore, thank you very much," Monroe protested. "I fix clocks, and sometimes I _consult_ on some of Nick's cases."

"So you're basically like a rolodex of info, but of no practical purpose whatsoever," Dean said, smirking. This was like a hobby – he really did relax the more he pissed someone else off. It was like therapy.

Monroe bristled. "Excuse me? Useless? When that stupid Grimm got his ass kicked by an ogre, who shot said ogre with a elephant gun from two hundred yards in the dark AND the rain?"

Hold up. This just got good…

"You have an elephant gun?" Dean asked curiously. "I think the heaviest artillery we have is a shotgun. What are you doing running around with an elephant gun, clockmaker?"

"I DON'T MAKE CLOCKS I FIX THEM!" Monroe shouted. "And it wasn't my gun, it was Nick's. Well, his aunt's. But I borrowed it, and I still killed the ogre."

"Fee fi fo fum," Dean said, actually smiling. This was fun. And actually partially maybe a little interesting. Not that he would ever admit that.

"Ogre, dumbass, not giant."

"So you killed a midget."

Monroe looked like he was one step from exploding, and Dean could see his facial features waver between human and wolf. Reddening eyes, shaggier hair, sharper features.

"You know, that's the weirdest thing I've ever seen. It's like a…hologram. So what do you guys _actually_ look like? Are you really a wolf, or really a person?" Dean asked. "Or is it like you appear to us as you want to, and then we only get glimpses?"

Monroe looked taken aback, and he glanced around the empty parking lot. The rain was falling a little heavier now, more than just the normal drizzle that seemed to linger on the city in the spring. "Am I suddenly on Punk'd?"

"No, seriously. Cas took over a host body so he appeared as a human, but still had all his angel mojo…sort of. And every once in a while you'd hear wings or see the shadows of them out of the corner of your eye. Zachariah said he had something like six faces and one of them was a lion, but we saw a corporate douche because we were 'limited'," Dean explained.

Monroe stared at him for probably a full thirty seconds before visibly shaking himself out of his stupor. "Sorry. But getting questions from Grimms is a little weird still. I've already accepted Nick's a freak of nature, cop first and all that. But to get questioned by a _Winchester_? This is like a kindergartener getting questions from David Beckham. You know…if on some level Beckham planned to kill the kid when the game was over."

Dean chuckled. "I'm not a Grimm, werewolf."

Monroe sniffed. "We'll just have to agree to disagree on that one. And I'm still not a werewolf."

Sam and Nick watched from the window.

"Aw, look. They're making friends," Nick said, brushing an imaginary tear from his eye. "I'm so proud of the little guys."

Sam laughed. "Friends. Sure. We'll call it that for now. Dean's really not that bad, I swear. He's just hit that plateau of grieving and sort of stuck there."

"Which plateau?"

Sam snorted. "A mixture between anger, depression, and 'I don't give a flying rat's ass about the end of the world anymore'."

"Ah," Nick nodded sagely. "That one. I understand."

"Oh, you will. You're still new. I don't ever wish on you the crap we've done. But, we digress. You're suspicion is that the trail was too obvious?"

Nick raised an eyebrow. "It didn't seem just a little suspicious that the trail was so obvious to such a clichéd cabin in the woods?"

Sam blinked. "Um. Actually, no…the guys we're used to don't normally hide what they're up to. They're not all that concerned about blending. Usually. There was that couple of demigods that ate people in Michigan around the holidays as a sacrifice though."

Nick's eyes widened. "I have enough trouble with _Vessen_ in Portland. All over the US? I don't think I even want to know the nightmare that would be…"

"_Vessen_?" Sam echoed.

Nick shrugged. "Creatures. Monsters. It's kind of a language barrier at this point, but I think all of the names are originally in some form of German. But yeah, I think it was too obvious. Like we're being screwed with."

"If that's the case, what're the odds that the latest victim is still alive just waiting for us to find them?" Sam asked.

"Or that they're still watching us now. God, the way they freak out over me being a Grimm just by title…I can't _wait_ to see their reaction when they see you guys." Nick laughed to himself.

"We're not so much on the visual recognition. Our last names are usually what gets us," Sam said.

"With a name like Winchester? Not surprising. There's only four of you besides you and your brother in the police system. One is your father, I assume. John Winchester?"

"Yep. Good ol' dad. So where do we wanna start with this one?" Sam asked. "We don't normally cover the police aspect. Just the monster part."

"Well, the kidnappings are all from different schools, all around the same time. The kids are usually between five and nine, but nothing racially similar that would suggest a pattern. Parents are clear and no mutual family friends that we can figure out," Nick explained.

"And you're sure it's a witch?" Sam asked.

"Pretty positive, based on the other bodies and patterns based against my aunt's books and Eddie's intel."

"Where are the books?"

"My aunt's trailer. Wanna take a look?" Nick asked, and immediately frowned when Sam burst out laughing. "I feel like I missed something."

"It's like we're five and you're asking if I want to see your comic book collection," Sam gasped out. "God, I haven't laughed like that in _months_."

Nick smirked. "Glad I could be of help, smartass. You wanna go or not?"

Sam was still trying to stop laughing. "Ah, yeah. Sure. Let's go."

Author's Notes: Also, I should mention that the Ghostfacers would be like a cameo. Not a major plot point. I love to hate them. It always makes me laugh about how they make fun of Ghost Hunters on SyFy with it. Comments/reviews are loved!


	5. Chapter 5

Also: Timelines. I try to keep up with the shows as they air, which puts Supernatural towards the end of 7th season but before Ghost Bobby comes back and they find out Castiel is still alive, and Grimm towards the end of the 1st. Oh. I'm not German, and I don't have subtitles on the TV, so I have no idea how you actually spell the creatures names. Vessen. Wessen. Wesen. Whatever. I picked what I heard first and stuck with it.

"Does it ever stop raining around here?" Dean grumbled. He and Monroe had been walking in the woods, following the oversized mutt's nose to where he suspected the 'witch' was actually hiding out, since the first cabin was obviously a bust.

"Sometimes. And even when it does, it doesn't normally turn sunny. It's just not getting any wetter," Monroe said, head tilted sliightly up towards the air, sniffing.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You're like having Scooby Doo on a hunt. I always wanted a dog."

"I'm about to forget that I'm reformed and bite you like one," Monroe countered. The banter was becoming a little less venemous and more mocking, and Monroe was actually beginning to enjoy himself. Sometimes it was worth it to be able to say whatever you wanted, and Dean actually seemed pretty hard to offend. As long as he stayed away from certain subjects.

"You wouldn't be the first. Are you actually sniffing the air? Can you smell anything in this rain?" Dean asked. He rubbed a hand through his hair, briefly shaking out the rainwater. It lasted all of 10 seconds, but it was a small act of defiance.

"Well, see, here's where I differ from Scooby – I'm actually worth something in the field. Blutbads' sense of smell is a thousand times greater than that of the average wolf. I can pick up scents that are weeks old, in the rain, with a cold."

Dean grinned at that. "I must smell awesome."

Monroe suddenly turned and inhaled deeply. "Hmm. Awesome, no. Complex – yes. Old spice, cheap shampoo, sweat, leather, rain, mud, and….brimstone."

Dean pulled abruptly to a halt so he didn't run face first into the man. Wolf. Whatever. "Brimstone?"

Monroe shrugged, and turned back to their improvised trail. "I assume from your time in Hell. That was one of the true rumors, right?"

"Yeah…but that was three years ago. Four. Five?" Dean shrugged. "Years ago. They sort of blur together and I try not to think about it."

"Can't imagine why," Monroe said sarcastically. "I assume Hell is one of those things that tend to linger on you."

They lapsed into silence, this time a comfortable one. Until Monroe piped up from the front again.

"Did you really sell your soul to get your brother back?" he asked.

"What else would I sell it for?" Dean asked. "Money? Babes? Fame? I'm good."

Monroe was a little taken aback from the honesty in Dean's answer. More importantly, how Dean thought it wasn't that big a deal – of course he would sell his soul for his brother. What kind of a stupid question was that? It was a little awe inspiring, to be perfectly honest – not many people had that kind of selfless nature.

He tried to figure out what to say after that, but Dean beat him to it.

"How come you don't smell like wet dog?"

Monroe rolled his eyes. People.

"Holy sweet baby Jesus, I thought our dad had a lot of journals," Sam gaped at the walls of the trailer.

Nick shifted uncomfortably behind him. "My aunt was kinda…meticulous…about the trailer. She said to keep it secret. I already kinda blew that one, but in my defense I still needed to kill an ogre and I was in the hospital at the time."

Sam ran an appreciative finger along the spines of the books lining the trailer walls. "Have you read all of these?"

"Some. But I don't really know what I'm looking at half the time, so I've been going through them only when Monroe doesn't have an answer."

Sam poked his head into the weapons closet. "Wow. Looks like the trunk of the Impala. Well, how it used to look. Kinda had to empty it out. Is that an elephant gun?"

"Ogre gun."

"Nice. So we're looking for a witch?" Sam asked, pulling his head back out and surveying the rather impressive tomes on the shelves. "Are these even in English?"

"Most of them. And it's not called a witch to a Grimm, it's a Hexenbiest. I think that's what it is. It's kind of bizarre, but a lot of the Wesen I've run into take a lot from the fairy tales. I'm not sure if they're profiling, or what, but this case seems to be an awful lot like Hansel and Gretel."

"Any idea where to start?" Sam asked, looking back at the detective. He frowned when he saw the almost sheepish look on the man's face. "What?"

"It's weird – you're the first human I've told about this place, and you just…don't bat an eye. I was invisioning a white padded room if I ever told anyone," Nick said.

"Well, if you showed it to normal people instead of us, you would be. But as my brother likes to point out, we're freaks. Tried the apple pie route – both of us – and it ended badly. You take the left half of the trailer, I'll take the right. Deal?" Sam said.

"Deal. What do you mean it ended badly?" Nick asked, his mind immediately flashing back to Juliet. He planned on proposing to her, despite everything his aunt warned him about. But really, if he was going to propose, he felt like he should be able to bring up being a Grimm…without her thinking he'd suddenly become a delusional schizophrenic.

"Um, well I ran away to law school, and then my girlfriend wound up as a bonfire on the ceiling, and then Dean tried it with an ex girlfriend and her son and they wound up almost getting killed as pawns against him, so he left them and had Castiel wipe their memories of him."

"Jesus…do you ever have _any_ happy stories?" Nick asked. "Am I doomed to misery with this…job?"

"Not everyone winds up miserable," Sam protested weakly. "We're just a special case."

"How special?"

"Epically. We could have a TV show based on us," Sam said, smiling. "Two Guys, a Gun, and a Demon Apocalypse."

"I think simpler is better," Nick said, pulling one of the books down. He was beginning to learn enough German from Monroe and Rosalee to actually make sense of some of the untranslated journals. And usually, the pictures were more than graphic enough to give him a hint as to what he was looking at. "You could just call it 'Supernatural'."

Sam laughed. "Yeah. Like that would sell."

They settled into a comfortable quiet, only interuppted by the sound of the rain on the roof of the trailer and the turn of weathered pages.

"Hey, does this look like it?" Sam asked, holding up a yellowed page with a charcoal drawing of the Hexenbiest.

"Yeah, that's one of them. Does it say anything about hunting patterns? The only other Hexenbiests I've dealt with were a break from the stories – they worked in offices and looked like corporate America, not some shack in the woods," Nick peered at the picture. "Maybe there's variations to them."

"What, forest dwelling kid snatching psycho, and then corporate bitch?" Sam asked. "Possible. Are you sure it's a Hexenbiest?"

"No. Are you sure it's a witch from your…version?" Nick asked.

Sam shook his head. "We're never sure what we're up against. The Cosmos likes giving us the finger when it comes to cases. '_Oh, it's obviously a poltergeist! What? No? It's actually the disembodied vengeful shadow of Satan trying to drive me crazy? Well shit_.'"

Nick snorted. "I'm never positive. That's why I have Monroe. Being the new kid when everyone else is years ahead of you and knows more about you than YOU do blows."

"So what do you have on your end?" Sam asked, putting the book down. "Clues, ideas…."

"Missing girl. Snatched off the playground during recess. No one remembers seeing anything, and she was kind of a quiet girl to begin with. The kids said they didn't remember seeing anyone, but they remember a van parked across the street until after recess – only because it was an ice cream truck. The precinct is working on getting surveillance tape from the street camera, but I haven't heard anything back from them just yet."

"And going to the precinct is a a no-go for me," Sam said, sighing. "Your partner have anything yet?"

"Which one? Monroe or Hank?" Nick asked. "Hank is pretty good about calling as soon as he get results back. Monroe is the same way. How about your brother?"

"Fifty fifty. Usually he'll call when he's in trouble, if he can, or leave a vague message waiting for me to find him. So what are other possibilities?"

Nick shrugged. "The only thing I've had repeat encounters with are Hexenbiests, but that was one in specific, and then Reapers. So, if one wanted a really, spectacularly far fetched theory, you could suggest that the Reapers, who work for someone I just don't know who, made the case look just enough like Grimm work to make sure I took it, and then picked an isolated point in the forest to try and set up a trap to kill me. Or capture me. To be honest, I have no idea what they want," Nick said.

Sam quirked an eyebrow. "Seriously? You have Grim Reapers after you?"

"No, not Grim Reaper. Reaper. They're just Wesen with scythes as near as I can tell." He paused for a moment. "And a rather serious grudge against me for whatever reason. I think I did something and they're taking it personal."

"Welcome to the club. Try not to make a name for yourself. Of course, you stay in Portland, right? Smaller hit squad out for you." Sam pulled his phone out as it started vibrating and swiped the call button. "Hey, Dean. We were just talking about you. You guys found a separate cabin? Where? Any signs of whatever the hell it is we're tracking? No? Dude, don't be an ass. Yeah, I'll tell him. Don't get killed, and call me back when you're done or you find something."

"Where are they?" Nick asked as soon as Sam hung up.

"Monroe found another cabin, apparently a lot more rundown than the last, but that's where the trail brought them. So far no signs of anything, but they're gonna check it out and call back if they find anything before we head all the way out there. Dean said Monroe says it was like another four miles west of the first one in case we need to find it," Sam explained.

"Probably an old hunting cabin or retreat. We have a lot of wilderness hippies in the area," Nick mused. "I say we give them less than an hour, and if we don't hear from them, head out."

"Paranoid?" Sam asked.

"Something feels wrong. Like it's a breadcrumb trail that we were _meant_ to find. First the girl disappears like one half of Hansel and Gretel, then witches are suspected, then it becomes a trail through the woods…I think there's something up."

Sam gave it all of two seconds worth of thought. "Dean can complain later. Let's go. Dean's like Murphy's Law of supernatural incidents, and I'd rather be paranoid and wrong then leave it and something happens."

"Same page. Let's go."

Ok, I was gonna have more, but this was taking forever to be able to get to a computer to do it, so I decided to post without the Monroe and Dean followup just yet. I'll put it up later if I get the chance.


	6. Chapter 6

So this is the second half of the last chapter. I thought I would have more time to work on it and I didn't. That's why it's so short. Also someone asked if this was slash. NO. It is NOT SLASH, and no, I will not make it that way. I'm all for pro gay rights, but good God, why must every male character suddenly be incapable of having a friend of the same gender? You want slash as part of the storyline, go watch Torchwood.

"Hey, Cujo," Dean called, eyeing a dark patch on the floorboards of the cabin.

"I have a name, and until you use it, I'm not coming," Monroe growled from the other side of the room. The cabin was dark, and smelled old, and unused. But there was something still off about it – not the smell of Hexenbiests, but something…wrong. Sam and Nick said they were on their way out to meet them, but Dean and Monroe decided they were old enough to investigate on their own.

"Whatever, Rover. Come check this out," Dean said, waving the flashlight beam at the floor.

"I thought working for Nick was bad…" Monroe grumbled, rolling his eyes. "What?"

"Can you tell if the blood is human?" Dean asked, gesturing at the spatters.

Monroe fought the urge to roll his eyes again, but gave a tentative sniff. The tinge of brimstone near Dean was still enough to make his nose itch. He wrinkled his nose. "No, it's not. That's Wesen blood of some sort."

He jumped slightly as Dean racked his gun. "Thought this place seemed a little too convenient. Let's go. We'll meet Nick and Sam back at the road."

"Why? What the hell does that mean, 'too convenient'?" Monroe protested as Dean grabbed him by the back of his collar and pulled him towards the door.

"It means it's a trap," a voice from the shadows said, before the door slammed shut in their faces.

"Great," Dean grumbled, turning towards the windows just in time to see the shutters predictably slam shut too.

"You're not the Grimm," the voice said, sounded torn between surprise and curiosity.

Monroe and Dean glanced at one another.

"Does it mean you or me?" Dean asked.

"We are aware of the Blutbad, human. You're the one we weren't expecting."

Dean shrugged. "Can't blame a guy for asking. You got a face, or do I have to keep taunting thin air?"

A very human shape melted from the shadows. Followed by half a dozen more. Oh goody.

"Better?"

"A little, yeah. What are you guys, and why do you want a Grimm? I thought you guys were terrified of them," Dean asked, keeping his gun focused on the leader.

Monroe inhaled sharply. "Reapers," he said.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Reapers? Seriously? But I can see them."

"What were you expecting, corpses with scythes and cloaks?" the Reaper leader asked dryly.

"Not exactly…a little less flesh and blood, but no scythes…" Dean said.

"You'll serve our purpose just fine, human. Especially since you brought the Blutbad with you."

"What the hell do I have to do with anything?" Monroe complained. "Man, hanging out with you and Nick is terrible for my reputation."

"I've never served anyone's purpose," Dean snapped. "Not even Michael's." He fired at the main Reaper, who had a split second to realize what Dean was doing. Instead of shooting him in the face, Dean's shot grazed his ear.

The Reaper howled in pain, clutching at his bleeding ear with his hand. "GET THEM!" he snarled.

"Whoa!" Dean said, his face lighting up like Christmas had come early. "Bullets actually work on these guys? AWESOME!"

Monroe fought the urge to slap his forehead.

The Reaper didn't give him much opportunity to think about it as four of them slammed into him, knocking him to the floor and bouncing his skull painfully off the floorboards.

Apparently the Reapers did their homework on Blutbads – embarrassingly enough, the four from the shadows managed to cold cock him hard enough to have him seeing triple. These weren't the type to rush one at a time. They actually knew what they were doing.

Sort of.

Evidently, they assumed that if Dean wasn't a Grimm, he was categorized as mostly harmless, and all of their force should be focused on Monroe, which left only two to take on Dean.

Two was a little bit of an overestimate of their strength, and damn if Dean didn't fight dirty as hell.

They apparently didn't know about Hunters either.

Dean shot one of them point blank in the face, and was currently duking it out with the remaining Reaper, who just so happened to be lucky enough to knock Dean's gun away with a well placed blow with his scythe.

Monroe wondered if Dean even noticed the amount of blood dripping down his arm now.

Probably not.

Cold steel encircled Monroe's wrists, and he felt the muzzle of a gun against his axis vertebrae. As much as it pained him to admit it, Monroe couldn't help without getting killed in the attempt.

"Fuck this," he heard the leader growl, and Monroe saw him pull a gun from the inside of his jacket.

"Look out!" Monroe growled, finding it slightly hard to breathe with the foot on the back of his neck.

Dean caught sight of the gun just as Monroe called his warning. "Not again," he whined, rolling his eyes and putting up his hands.

Either the Reapers didn't hear him, or they were ignoring him, but Monroe was at least a little puzzled by the statement.

Dean looked shocked when the Reaper fired and instead of a bullet to the chest, there was a small, lightly plumed dart sticking through his jacket.

Dean blinked in surprise, and reached towards the offending object. "Hmm," he said, swaying gently. "That's a first." And promptly collapsed in a boneless heap on the floor.

The Reaper straightened his collar, before reholstering his weapon. "He might prove interesting." He turned towards Monroe, who fortunately was beginning to see only one of each of them instead of in triplicate. "At least I have you. The Grimm will come for a friend, and the cop in him won't be able to ignore a civilian in distress. This is almost better than I hoped for."

Monroe snarled, his features flashing lupine for a moment before the boot that had been resting on the back of his head lifted suddenly and smashed full force against the side of his head.

He didn't even have a second thought about the darkness that came crashing down.

Sorry about the delay. Work is a little..OCD lately and I've been applying to get out of the military early and having some issues with it. Feedback is welcome! PREFERRED, EVEN! :-) PS – I would like some feedback as to how you think they're interacting with each other. Like Dean's response to the fact that Vessen can be injured by regular weapons for the most part, since almost NOTHING is affected by bullets in their world. Read and Review, please!


	7. Chapter 7

Looong delay, I know, but if I don't actively watch a show, I tend to let things slide and I feel like I'm not doing the characters justice anymore. So here's an attempt anyway, which is mostly prompted by watching Grimm Youtube compilations and Jensen Ackles on Smallville (which is hilarious by the way).

SGSGSGSGSGSG

Dean groaned, blinking his eyes open and immediately shutting them. The world, while painfully bright was also doing a crazy little tilt-a-whirl he was not appreciative of.

"Oh good. You're awake. Someone else to talk to," an irritated voice to his left. "You finally with me? Or are you going to ramble some more about not wanting to be an archangel prom dress?"

Dean dredged a face from his memory, though the name still eluded him. "Lassie. Weren't you supposed to be the big bad wolf in this scenario?"

"I'm _still_ not a dog, wiseass."

"So you admit to the damsel in distress part?" Dean said, cracking one eye open again. He could make out the bare bulb hanging just outside their cell, which was rather unremarkable in itself. Prerequisite bad guy décor was a given – dingy cellar walls, one of which was leaking pretty badly, lending an all around musty, damp smell to everything. One flimsy cot, one door with padded lock, and the lack of outside noise confirmed his suspicions they were probably still in the woods somewhere. Hell, it might even be the same house. They didn't exactly get a chance to explore before getting…shot? He rubbed a hand over his chest and there was nothing – no wound.

"They shot you with a dart gun. Apparently they like you enough that they want you alive," Monroe (THAT was his name…) said. "Obviously, they have no idea who you are."

Dean managed to push himself up, shaking his head to clear away the cobwebs, before turning to glance at Monroe. He couldn't help the grimace. "Damn, Scooby. What the hell happened to you?"

Half of Monroe's face was black and blue, one eye almost completely swelled shut. Dried blood caked the side of his face and was beginning to flake off.

"I got curb stomped. Evidently, they weren't counting on there being two of us. Or they just thought I deserved the executive treatment. I feel all sorts of special now," Monroe complained.

Dean snorted. "I know the feeling." He moved to stand up, and Monroe immediately protested.

"I wouldn't do that, man. Whatever they gave you was designed for a Grimm, and they have way stronger immunities to drugs than normal people."

"Well, you keep saying we're like Grimms, so let's give it the old college try, huh?" Dean pushed himself to a standing position, and promptly face planted into the floor.

"Let me guess – you have a GED?" Monroe drawled.

Dean grunted. "No, I just happen to like the floor. Might do me some pushups while I'm down here."

Monroe actually laughed. "I suppose I could've asked for a worse cellmate."

"Told you I was awesome," Dean said, rolling over onto his back so he wasn't breathing in the dirt.

The door to the basement creaked open, and two sets of footsteps started down.

"I'm going to really hope my brother and your cop are the freakin' Wonder Twins and that's them already," Dean said, rolling his head back to the stairs.

Two Reapers, including the one Dean shot the ear off appeared at the bottom of the stairs, frowning.

"Aw, nuts," Dean grumbled. "Wrong Wonder Twins. Dude, what happened to your ear?" Ok, maybe the drugs hadn't worn off completely, or his self preservation instincts were just gone at this point in life.

"You're not the Grimm, so you're non-essential. I would watch my tongue if I were you," One Ear said, scowling.

"Or what? You'll kill me? It's been done, dude. By other Reapers, too…which, by the way, I need to ask you about…are you like a different species? Different religion? What?" Dean asked, not even bothering to sit up again. "How come I can see you?"

The two Reapers exchanged glances. "How much did you give him?" the second one said.

One Ear shrugged. "I know it was geared for a Grimm, but really? It's been a few hours. He should be at least _sane_ if not entirely lucid."

Monroe suddenly smiled. "Guys, do you have _any_ idea who this guy is?"

One Ear shrugged indifferently. "It doesn't matter. The Grimm is defective. He'll come for a civilian, just as he would come for you, Blutbad."

Monroe started laughing. "You have no _freaking_ clue, do you? Did you take his wallet when you took our phones? You might want to check the name."

The Reapers exchanged looks, and the second one reached into his jacket, pulling out Dean's wallet.

"Hey!" Dean whined. "That's mine!" Nope. Drugs were still definitely messing with his head. He really wanted to laugh. Uncontrollably. He bit it tongue.

The Reaper flipped it open, pulling out several ID's. "Robert Plant, Bon Scott, James Hetfield…" he raised his eyes questioningly to Monroe. "So he has a thing for 80's rock bands."

"Look behind the badge," Dean prompted, smiling to himself, finally managing to sit up, with Monroe's help, against the bars on the far wall.

The Reapers sighed, but did as asked and fished out a small, wallet sized photo of the Winchesters as a family.

"Flip it over…"

"Mary, John, Dean and little Sammy…the Winchesters…" The first reaper blanched. "Sam and Dean Winchester. _The_ Winchesters?"

"The one and only, demon slaying, monster killing, apocalypse starting, Satan stopping Kansas boys!" Dean said, smirking. "I might be convinced to sign a few autographs."

"Boss, Grimms are one thing…but this…this is _suicide_," the second Reaper hissed.

One Ear scoffed. "The Winchesters aren't real, stupid. They're like the boogeyman for humans…they don't exist. It's just something your parents made up to keep you in line."

"What?" Dean protested. "I am not a fairy tale!"

One Ear ignored him. "It doesn't matter anyway. It's not like they're Superman. He's locked up in there, and the other one doesn't even know we're here." He unlocked the door, producing a pair of pliers from his jacket pocket.

"That's never a good thing," Dean quipped, pushing further against the wall. He'd already learned standing wasn't really on the menu, and trying to pick a fight while the world was still doing a hundred and eighty RPMs probably wasn't a wise idea either.

Clanking next to him alerted him to the fact that the reason why Monroe wasn't standing was because he was actually chained to the bars, with his hands behind his back, and while his face flashed lupine, it didn't do much for helping Dean.

"Do not move, or I'll take the whole finger," One Ear threatened, waving the pliers in front of Dean's face.

"What the hell are you planning on taking any-YOW!" Dean shouted in surprise more than pain. Years of torture in Hell and a lifetime of general aches and pains dulled his reaction as the Reaper pulled his fingernail off his right middle finger. "What the hell is wrong with you? What do you even need that for?"

"Seriously, dude? You just shrug it off like it means nothing you're down on finger nail. That's usually considered torture," Monroe said, staring in disbelief.

"I have a high pain threshold," Dean shrugged. "Remind me to tell you about a dude named Azazel."

"Do you two _ever_ shut up?" One Ear shouted, immediately backhanding the two of them in rapid succession. Normally, it probably wouldn't have mattered to Monroe either, but one side of his face was still pretty mashed up. Dean wasn't prepared for his already topsy-turvy world to suddenly veer violently to one side and the back of his head collided with the bars behind him.

"Ow…" Dean mumbled, blinking away stars. He vaguely felt the Reaper pull on his right index finger, tugging the silver ring off of it.

"Apparently the Grimm and his new partner, whoever the hell he is, don't know where they should be looking. This is partially to tell them that yes, we have you, and yes, we will hurt you, but we'd prefer not anything permanent just yet. We just want the Grimm. The King can argue all he wants later, but if the Grimm gives himself up, the laws don't apply to his protection anymore."

"King?" Dean and Monroe echoed simultaneously.

Dean squinted up at the Reaper. "Seriously. Portland has a monarchy? Or was I out longer than I thought?"

"I'm not explaining to you _peasants_ what we're dealing with. So make yourselves comfortable – you could be here for a while." With that, One Ear turned on his heel, pocketing Dean's ring and still holding his finger nail in the plier's grip as he headed back up the stairs. The second one made sure the cage was locked before following his leader back upstairs.

When they heard the door click shut and a deadbolt slide, Monroe turned to Dean. "I like you so much better when you're on a high."

Dean laughed, and held his hand up to inspect the damage. His finger was bleeding steadily, but not profusely, and it throbbed dully in the background. He could see it start to twitch from the exposed nerves though, and knew it was going to hurt like a mother later when the drugs wore off. "I kinda like it too…and what does he mean King? Please say he doesn't mean Lucifer. We don't get along so well."

Monroe shrugged, chain clattering behind him. "I have no idea what he's talking about. There're rumors of a power struggle going on for the Pacific Northwest, but they don't say between who. Reapers have been showing up dead though, so safe to say they're not employed by the monarchy. Unless they're fighting with a rogue…"

"Well, the Reapers I deal with answer to Death – we also don't get along."

"Wow. There's a shocker. Do you get along with _anyone_?"

Dean's face darkened. "I learned my lesson when my best friend became an evil God, drove my brother insane, and tried to kill me in an attempt to take over Heaven and Earth."

"Oh…"

And with that, the two fell into silence.

SGSGSGSGSGSG

Ok, so not exactly a lot happened in this chapter. I'm taking on the request of a reviewer who said they want Renard to show up in his creature form in the story, I am. I'm debating bringing Castiel in and resurrecting him differently than the show did, since when I started this he was still presumed dead (obviously, since Dean still is referring to him in past tense). Suggestions, reviews, comments welcome! Let me know how it reads! I always have doubts about crossovers…


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